Stories of God calling individuals into a new mission, or “call narratives,” as we label them, are some of our most beloved stories from scripture. They are all pretty dramatic: God speaking to Moses from a burning bush, God having Jonah thrown overboard and swallowed by a fish, God sending an angel to Mary, or today, a seraph placing a burning hot coal on Isaiah’s lips. At first, almost everyone one of the characters resists – with protests about how they are not good public speakers, how they do not agree with God’s mission, how the thing God is proposing is biologically impossible, or how they are so full of sin, they could not possibly do whatever God has proposed. And yet, after much arguing with God, each individual usually agrees – and often says the words we hear in Isaiah today, “hineni,” or “Here I am;” send me. The whole process is very dramatic and awe-inspiring. We love to hear and reread these stories and we love to see individuals rise to the occasion.

But here’s the problem with call narratives. The stories are so dramatic and the responses are so confident and selfless, that we cannot see ourselves in them. Those are stories that happen to those people. We are not Moseses, Isaiahs, Marys, or Jonahs (ok, maybe we are a little like Jonah, but even his story is a bit extreme!). We can certainly relate to the resistance each servant offers to God, but the call is a bit harder for us to imagine. God doesn’t come to us in dramatic ways, and we definitely do not feel like God is doing something dramatic in us to change the world. The last time we checked, we were not being asked to lead a people out of slavery from a dictator, use our bodies for immaculate conception, or even go around proclaiming judgement to the world. Those sorts of dramatic things are things other people do; not us.

I think that is why I like Luke’s version of Simon Peter’s call narrative. This pericope, as Bob taught us last week, or this piece of scripture might be the story we need to help us see call narratives are not just about those people. The way we get there though, is not jumping right to overflowing boats, full of fish. The way we get there is looking at all the seemingly innocuous parts of the story.

The first small detail of the story that can sneak past us is how Jesus starts teaching. The text says, “while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him … He got into one of the boats.” Jesus does not ask permission of Simon to get in his boat. Jesus does not negotiate the terms of using Simon’s boat for a period of time. Jesus literally just gets on the boat. He does not seem to care that Simon and his crew have had a total failure of a night of fishing, and are probably both exhausted and frustrated. Jesus just gets on the boat with a word to Simon. As scholar David Lose argues, what we learn about in this brazen action is “sometimes God doesn’t ask our permission to get involved in our life, to encounter us with grace, God just goes ahead and does it.”[i]

Then something even more odd happens. When Jesus finally does get around to asking Simon to push the boat out a bit so he can teach, Simon just does what Jesus asks. We have no idea why. Perhaps he simply responds because he knows this is just the way Jesus is. We know that Simon Peter already had an encounter with Jesus at this point in Luke’s gospel, when Jesus healed his mother-in-law. Maybe Simon was so grateful for that healing that he pushed the boat out to sea out of a sense of gratitude or obligation. Or maybe Simon Peter was just that kind of guy – the kind of guy who even when he is bone tired and frustrated would still lend you a helping hand.[ii] Regardless, his immediate and silent acquiescence tells us something.

Then another funny thing happens. The text tells us when Jesus is done teaching, Jesus speaks to Peter. That half sentence almost seems like a throw-away transition. But even in this transition, we see something special. What we see in this transition is even “when he’s all done teaching, Jesus isn’t actually all done. In fact, that he’s just getting started. Because God’s like that, always up to more than we imagine.”[iii]

Then comes Jesus’ request – to put the nets back out again. Now, remember that Simon Peter and his crew have just spent the early hours of the morning cleaning all those nets. So already, Jesus is asking a lot to this worn down, frustrated crew. But Jesus’ request is funny in another way. Jesus does not suggest they try his new and improved fishing method. Jesus does not suggest a new body of water or a different location. Jesus does not give them new nets to try. He just asked them to do the exact same thing they had been trying all night. The only difference this time, as Lose points out, is “… Jesus spoke to them and they do what he says and the word Jesus spoke makes it different, because God’s Word always does what it says, even when those hearing that Word fall short or even have a hard time believing it.”[iv] God’s Word changes everything.

Now what happens next is pretty typical. When the miracle of all those fish happens, and Peter senses Jesus offering a call to him, Peter protests as many a servant has – saying he is a sinner. But what is interesting in this call narrative is Jesus’ response. Jesus does not say that Simon’s sins are forgiven, or do some symbolic act to cleanse Simon’s sinfulness. No, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid.” Sure, Jesus offers forgiveness of sins. But Jesus offers so much more. Jesus offers encouragement and comfort. Instead of simply insisting Simon can answer the call, Jesus instead offers the words of a pastor. Those words, “do not be afraid,” will be words we hear over and over again in Luke’s gospel. Part of this call narrative is a reminder that we do not have to be afraid anymore!

Then Jesus tells Peter something even more incredible. This miracle he just witnessed is nothing. Peter is going to do something even greater – be a fisherman of people – “catching people up in the unimaginable and life-changing grace of God.”[v] Simon Peter really was not someone special. Simon was not so gifted that he was already a leader in the community. No, Jesus just picks an average fisherman for this incredible new mission. That’s something else we learn about God in this passage; this is “how God works, always choosing the unlikeliest of characters through whom to work, putting aside all their doubts and fears and excuses and professed shortcomings to do marvelous things through them.”

And this is how we get back to each person in this room. Despite the fact that call narratives can be dramatic, call narratives are also full of ordinary little things that remind of us the kind of God we have; the reasons why we trust this incredible, loving God; how woefully unprepared and unworthy any of us really are; and how through our relationship with God we find ourselves saying yes, saying hineni, without an exclamation point, but with scared-out-of-our-minds trust.

We may think call narratives are something that biblical heroes experience. But the reality is, each one of us here has a call narrative. Sometimes they are dramatic, but most of the time, they are gradual calls that evolve as we deepen our relationship with Christ, as we slowly, quietly keep saying hineni, as we try, fail, and try again to figure out what God wants us to do with our lives, and as we suddenly realize we are doing it. We are leaving boats full of fish to follow Christ. We changing the course of our lives in incremental ways. We are finally able to see ourselves as Christ sees us – as individuals gifted with special gifts that enable us to share God’s love in our own little piece of this big world. Do not be afraid, friends. The secret of you already following God’s call is safe here. Just keep saying yes, keep saying your quiet hineni and God will keep using you in powerful, dramatic ways. Amen.

Today, as we celebrate another year of ministry in Jesus Christ through Hickory Neck, and as we host our Annual Meeting, we hear words of encouragement from Holy Scripture. The reading from Isaiah says, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. …you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you…” God’s words spoken through the prophet tell God’s people they are cherished and loved, they will be protected, even through the waters and fires of life, and they are called for a purpose.

As I reflect back on this past year, we have seen evidence that we are precious in God’s sight, and honored, and loved. We see that most readily in the pastoral care and fellowship of Hickory Neck. Whether we have been visited by a priest or a Eucharistic Visitor, whether we have received a birthday, sympathy, or prayer card, or whether we have had our dreams heard and affirmed, we have felt precious, honored, and loved and Hickory. We have felt that same sense of love in times of fellowship – whether laughing at coffee hour or brunch, finding spiritual renewal at the Women’s Retreat or a Quiet Day, connecting with longtime friends at summer merged services or our new Rector’s lunches, or whether we have met new friends at joint picnics with the Kensington School – we have felt God’s love through one another. And as we have baptized many a child this past year, married and renewed the vows of parishioners, and lovingly buried old friends, we have felt that sense of being honored and precious in God’s eyes. If ever we were uncertain that God loves us, that we are precious and honored, we find that affirmation in the ministries and witness of one another at Hickory Neck.

Life at Hickory Neck also testifies to God’s insistence that we not be afraid – that God is with us as we pass through the waters, through the rivers, or walk through the fires. We entered 2018 with budget deficit, knowing we had trimmed as much as we could, and praying for generous hearts and frugal hands. And just this week, our Treasurer tells us that we finished the year in the black! I am so grateful for the ways in which God inspired your generosity to Hickory Neck, helping us serve Christ in the world! Talk about walking through a fire (and literal waters, as Pete Devlin bailed out the Chapels too many times to count this year!). But that was not the only trial this year. This year we also passed through the waters of being a property that only hosted a church to a property that opened its doors and its hearts to a new school. We labored through SUP permits, giant trailers and construction, the demolishing of an old playground and the creation of a new beautiful playground, and waiting for a Certificate of Occupancy. But we emerged out of the waters into a new relationship – one that is bringing mutual blessing and joy, that is blessing our community, and is serving a need beyond our doors. We have walked through waters, rivers, and fires, and yet God has been with us, inspiring us, encouraging us, and building us up to be stronger witnesses for Christ.

Finally, when God tells the people of Israel they are called by name, and they are God’s, we hear echoes of that same sense of calling at Hickory Neck. God has called many of us to new ministries this year – from new Task Forces, to covering duties once held by a volunteer sexton, to new chairs of committees and participants in ministries, to a new deacon. God has also called Hickory Neck out into our community. From hosting the Winter Shelter, to providing backpacks to neighbors in need, to raising funds for local charities, and supporting the work the Discretionary Fund does to help neighbors in financial crisis. And when one of our new member’s family was devastated by fires in California, Hickory Neck claimed them as their own, helping support their recovery. As members of Hickory Neck, we are called by named, known by God, and are serving as witnesses of Christ in the world.

Unfortunately, we do not get to close 2018, dust off our hands, and say, “Good work, Hickory Neck! You’re all done!” As we look toward 2019, with yet another budget deficit, we realize a few things. This year holds yet another river we will need to cross – a river that the Lord promises will not overwhelm us. This year, I, with the help of Personnel and our Vestry, will be reimagining the staffing of Hickory Neck as we face yet another transition. As Charlie’s tenure as our curate comes to end and we celebrate his time with us, we know that Hickory Neck will need to envision a new way to staff our parish for the future. I do not know the end result of that discernment, but I do know that God has powerful things in store for us. As much as mentoring a curate into a new ministry has been a blessing for us, I suspect the other side of this river has blessings for us too. We have hints of that blessing as we see the generosity of many in our parish, a majority of whose pledges increased, and whose average pledge is higher than many Episcopal parishes.

As we look ahead to 2019, we hear echoes of God’s words through Isaiah, “you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.” Upon the completion of our Church Safety Task Force’s work, the Vestry will be making some decision and implementing new practices to ensure each parishioner’s safety while on our campus because each member and visitor’s life is precious to us. Likewise, our Pastoral Care team will be implementing the new Circle Ministry to help parishioners stay connected through prayer every week. Meanwhile, the staff and leadership of Hickory Neck has committed itself to honoring one another through increased opportunities for fellowship and pastoral care, for formation of children and adults, and for the tending of our newcomers.

Finally, as we enter into 2019, we do not forget God’s words to the people of Israel, “I have called you by name, you are mine.” One of the primary reasons we and the Bishop called Deacon Bob to serve Hickory Neck was so he could help each of us assess how God is calling us this year, reminding us to whom we belong, and how we can serve this God who loves us so much. We answer God’s call later this winter as we host Winter Shelter on our own for the first time since we started co-hosting Winter Shelter weeks. This year we also commit to Hickory Neck’s calling to be a home the multigenerational care of our neighbors. We expect our relationship with the Kensington School to deepen, as we offer Godly Play classes to students, increase pastoral care efforts to students, teachers, and families, and as we add opportunities for fellowship and formation. We will also continue our discernment around elder respite care, determining how to address the growing need in our community and how we can utilize our resources for our neighbors in need. God has called us to powerful ministries in 2019, and Hickory Neck is poised to respond, “Here I am, Lord.”

When I read this passage from Isaiah in preparation for today, I felt an overwhelming sense of affirmation, encouragement, and emboldening. When I looked back at 2018 with Hickory Neck and looked forward at 2019 with Hickory Neck, I felt a similarly overwhelming sense of affirmation, encouragement, and emboldening. God is doing great things for, in, and through us. God celebrates with us this day, and also throws us back in the saddle as we take on the mantle of being called to seek and serve Christ, and strengthen this community into a community of belonging, believing, and becoming. I am confident in what God is doing through us, and I encouraged by the witness of each person in this room, and I am emboldened by the activity of the Holy Spirit working in us to witness Christ’s love and light. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. …you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you…” Amen.

Today we are honoring the beginning of Bob Gay’s diaconal ministry with Hickory Neck. We do not arrive at this day lightly. Bob and his family had to discern if coming out of retirement was what God was calling him to do. Bob had to confirm that call with church leaders, church members, and Diocesan staff. Bob had to prayerfully consider what a diaconal ministry at Hickory Neck would look like and how that ministry might be different than at other churches. And today, Bob and our community make commitments to not only support his call, but also recommit to our own senses of call. Though our celebration of Bob’s ministry may feel brief in relation to all we do today, the gravity of what we do in and through Bob is serious.

Although I am thrilled to honor Bob’s new ministry among us, sometimes these types of days can leave us with the impression that “calling,” is something that happens to those with collars – people are called to be priests, deacons, and bishops. Sometimes we are willing to expand the notion of calling to certain helping professionals – people are called to be nurses, social workers, fire fighters, and teachers. But we get a little tripped up imagining being called to be other things – a lawyer, an engineer, a stay-at-home parent, an investment banker, or a business owner. And when we are younger, we almost never hear people saying we are called to be a student, a babysitter, a friend, or a sibling. We might think we are good at some of those things, or we enjoy those jobs or roles, but we do not always say we are “called” to do them.

I met a retired priest once, and he said his greatest joy in retirement was in helping parishioners experience God on Mondays. In partnership with the clergy of his church, his “calling” in retirement was to set up what he called “Sunday-Monday Appointments” with church members. He would go visit members of Church on Mondays in their places of employment and talk about where they see God in their everyday life – how they make the connection between what they do on Sundays and what they do on Mondays. Those conversations are meant to help the parishioners name how they experience “calling” in their work place. For some parishioners, that conversation is quite easy. But for others, that conversation is much more difficult. Many of them have never had a priest visit them at work, and they have certainly never prayed aloud at the end of a meeting at work. When the retired priest asks them about their Sunday-Monday connection, sometimes he finds parishioners do not really have a connection. Those two days feel very separate in their minds.

Part of what is challenging in claiming that we are “called” to a role outside of church is we feel intimidated declaring what God would want us to do outside of church. We imagine something a bit like what happened to those around John the Baptist in our gospel lesson today. We do not like the idea of being called a “brood of vipers.” We do not like the idea of being told our ancestry does not matter – that being a descendant of Abraham does not hold sway with God. We do not like hearing about repentance, or axes lying at the root of trees who do not bear fruit. Perhaps if we had been one of those gathered around John the Baptist, we might have simply concluded that the whole baptism thing was not for us. Baptized living sounds hard as John describes baptism.

But before we get too far down the path of defeatism, something interesting happens in our gospel story. Instead of walking away with their heads hung low when John starts calling them broods of vipers, the crowd asks a question, “What then should we do?” After being called broods of vipers, you might expect the eccentric John to tell them to sell all their possessions, eat insects, and live in rags. Instead, John says something quite simple, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” Basically, John says, share your stuff when you have more than you need. That is all: share your stuff. We can tell John’s answer is pretty benign because the tax collectors jump in, “Teacher, what should we do?” They ask because although the others get off pretty easy, the tax collectors know they are in a bit of hot water, resembling broods of vipers more than they might like to admit. But John is mild again, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” In other words, John says, “Just do your job fairly.” The soldiers are emboldened now too, asking, “And we, what should we do?” John gives them an easy out too, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” That one is pretty basic too: appreciate what you have, and don’t be a bully.

What scholar David Lose appreciates “is how mundane, if not downright obvious, John’s admonition proves. I mean, this is not rocket-science; indeed, [John’s admonition] is the logic of the classroom and playground most of us first heard in kindergarten: share, be fair, don’t bully. But if somewhat obvious, [John’s admonition] is at least also within their reach. John does not tell the crowds to join him out in the wilderness, he does not ask the tax-collectors to abandon or betray Rome, and he does not urge soldiers to a life of pacifism. Instead, he points them to the very places in which they already live and work, love and laugh, struggle and strive, and suggests that these places are precisely where God calls them to be, where God is at work in them and through them for the sake of the world.”[i]

This month in our Sunday Forum series we are talking about our spiritual gifts. We are hearing diverse voices talk about what gifts each of us have and how we can use those gifts in our various callings. The idea is not simply to discover what gifts we have so that we can use them in the world; the idea is also to name how we are already using our gifts in the world, and to understand the use of those gifts out in the world and within this community as our calling. You know as well as I do that some of us are called to teach children, some to read scripture in worship, some to advise the church about financial decisions, some to plan parties, and others to find and stop leaks in water pipes. And some of us are not called to do any of those things. But each of us has spiritual gifts unique to ourselves, and each of us are invited to use those gifts in the church and the world. Those spiritual gifts can be as simple as the fidelity of a parent or spouse, the attentiveness of a friend, the hard work of an employee, the honesty of an employer, the steadfastness of a volunteer, the generosity of participating in an outreach ministry, or the compassion of visiting the sick or homebound.[ii]

What Bob’s new ministry and John’s invitation in our gospel lesson today do is not send us home thinking we must be ordained or be some crazy wilderness prophet to be faithful to God and live out our calling. What we do liturgically and hear scripturally today is remember that the connection from Sunday to Monday matters. The things we do in our everyday lives are opportunities to stop seeing work, home, school, and community as simply work, home, school, and community, but instead as our mission field – as the places where we live out the calling we discern here on Sundays. And if we are not certain what that calling is, the crowd surrounding John encourage us to ask the same question they ask, “And me, what should I do?” I promise the answer will not be overwhelming. The answer will be simple: show God’s loving-kindness in the workplace, at home, at school, and in the community; be Christ’s light in the grocery store, on the playground, with your loved one, and with the stranger; share the Holy Spirit’s love while driving, while emailing, while eating, and while playing on a team. Our job each Sunday is to keep asking, “And me, what should I do?” and then trust on Monday the answer will be unique to our gifts, within our reach, and fulfilling beyond measure. Amen.

Our parable from Matthew’s gospel today seems to present two very different versions of God. When the story opens, the landowner is painted in a positive light. Within the first line of this parable, we already find a landowner who places a great deal of trust in his servants. Not only does he trust his servants with his property, he is also thoughtful about what each servant can handle. Based on their abilities, he give gives one servant five talents, one servant two talents, and the other servant one talent.[i] Now before we go too much farther, we need to remember that the entrusting of even one talent is a big deal. You see, a talent is worth about 15 years of what a servant would normally make in wages.[ii] To the first servant, the landowner is entrusting about 75 years’ worth of wages! This landowner is not only generous with his property, he communicates a great deal of confidence in these three servants.

The story continues to be remarkable. Nowhere in the parable does the landowner say, “Okay here are your talents. Here is how I suggest you manage my wealth.” No, the landowner leaves, communicating not just generosity, confidence, and trust, but also giving the gift of freedom to each servant. Implicit is the expectation that they handle the wealth well, but also implicit is the idea that they have some autonomy in their management.

Many years later, the landowner returns, and we find his generous, trusting, encouraging nature continues. When the first servant tells the landowner of his adventures with the talents, how he is able to double his holdings, the landowner is effusive with praise. Because he has done such a fantastic job, the landowner says he will reward him with entrusting him to do more. And then, as if to further prove what a generous landowner he is, the landowner opens his arms widely and says, “enter into the joy of your master.” What a tremendous gift to this servant who has worked hard, taken on tremendous risk, and hustled for years and years for the sake of his landowner. We can almost hear the vigorous pats on the back, and imagine the tears welling up in the servant’s eyes as he is affirmed, encouraged, and loved.

But then our story changes. The third servant seems to evoke a very different version of the landowner. Clearly the landowner knew the third servant was not as gifted as the others when he only gave the third servant one talent. Faced with the sudden burden of wealth like he has never seen before, the third servant panics. He does not want to mess things up or disappoint the landowner. Unlike the other servants, this servant is full of self-doubt and fear. And so, he does the best he can. He goes and he buries the money. Sure, he does not come back with more like the other servants, but at least he does not come back with less than with what he was entrusted. To this nervous, timid, perhaps slightly less bright servant, the landowner is suddenly a very different landowner. The landowner calls the servant wicked and lazy. The landowner yells at the servant for mischaracterizing the landowner and for being so overcome with fear. And then, as if the yelling and name-calling is not enough, the landowner strips him of the wealth, gives the talent to the first servant, and then casts the third servant out of his grace and abundance, leaving him in the outer darkness.

So, why is this landowner so kind, generous, and trusting in one breath, and impatient, mean, and cruel in the next? We have been getting a lot of these kinds of stories from Matthew lately. First, we got the wedding host who seemed to be generously welcoming all to the party, only to cast someone out who wore the wrong clothing. Then we got the feuding bridesmaids who refuse to care for one another, and the bridegroom who has no patience for a lack of preparedness. And then we get today’s parable. If we simply had just this one instance of God’s harshness or unjust judgment, we could say the parable is an anomaly, a strange outlier. But given the repeated telling of scary-ending stories, we are cued into the idea that something else is going on in Matthew’s gospel. Indeed, all of these unsettling parables are what we call eschatological parables – stories about the end times.[iii] At this point in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is approaching the end of his life. Instead of continuing to heal, preach, and lovingly teach his disciples, he starts getting real. I am reminded of one of the first reality television shows that ever aired, MTV’s The Real World. MTV would pair seven very different individuals and make them live together for a few months. The tagline of the show was, “This is what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real.”

Understanding that Jesus is facing his immanent death is critical to understanding what is going on with Jesus in these parables. Any of us who has journeyed with someone who is dying knows that at some point, they stop being polite and start getting real. This is their last chance to tell others the essentials: the life lessons learned, the love they want to share, and the stern encouragement they want to give. Although this landowner seems harsh or even irrationally mean, what he is doing is communicating ultimate significance.

Let’s go back to this third servant. We know what the third servant does is not all that bad. He does not squander the entrusted wealth, or act rashly. He is conservatively prudent and, perhaps based on his skill level, wise to restrain himself. But ultimately, the landowner is not upset about what the servant does. The landowner is upset about the servant’s motivation: fear.[iv]

In a couple of months, our family will be going on a trip that involves a visit to an amusement park. We have been talking about the park as a family, and most of the members of our family are thrilled. We have been watching videos about the rides, and the children are getting amped up to try some of the rollercoasters. I, on the other hand, have no interest in the rides. I am scared to death of rollercoasters. I do not like the way they make me feel, I do not like how tense they make me, and I do not like the lack of control I feel when on them. I gladly prefer to be the “holder of bags” at amusement parks. But my family has been riding me this time. They want to experience the adventure with me. They want to discover which ones are too scary and which ones are just plain fun together. And yet just talking about that idea has my knees knocking with fear.

That’s the funny thing about fear. Fear distorts every good thing about our nature. Fear cuts off creativity. When we are overcome with fear, we cannot be imaginative and playful, coming to new solutions and ways of being. Fear also messes with our sense of trust. When we are overcome with fear, we forget the goodness of others, our previous examples of how things have gone well, or even the bold support of our God. Fear messes with our confidence. When we are overcome with fear, all the good, powerful, and holy parts of us gets riddled with self-doubt and inaction. And finally, fear messes with our willingness to take risks. When we are overcome with fear, we cannot do the things that will lead to great payoff.

Fear in the abstract is a normal reaction in life. But we have to remember what Jesus is talking about in this parable to understand why the landowner is so harsh about fear. You see, talents are not just metaphors for the thing things we are good at or even for the money we have in life. Talents are metaphors for the vocations we each have.[v] You see, each person in this room has a calling. Some of us are called to particular jobs or courses of study. Some of us are called to particular roles within families or groups. Some of us are called to use our gifts in particular ways. We all have a call, a vocation in life. And our vocation is affirmed by the skills or materials we are given to live out that call. The problem with the third servant is that he is given what he needs in abundance. The landowner affirms him, trusts him, and gives him space and time to live out his vocation. But the third servant allows himself to be so overcome with fear that he does not live out his vocation. He shuts down creativity, trust, confidence, and risk-taking all because he is afraid. And that is the ultimate sin for God.

What this parable invites us to do today is not to see this landowner – this stand-in for God – as a mean, cruel, reactive God that punishes. Quite the opposite, the parable today invites us to remember that our God is trusting, discerning about our gifts, confident in our abilities, and joyful in our obedience. God gives each person in this room a vocation, a purpose, in this world, gives us the gifts and encouragement we need to fulfill that vocation, and, ultimately, expects us to go out into the world and boldly take the risk of doing what God has already enabled us to do. No one likes being thrust out of the nest, having to use our wings to sustain us. But our parable reminds us we can do what we need to do. We have beautiful wings and our flying will help others, will bring blessing to the world, and will bring us great joy. Getting scared when God stops being polite and starts getting real is normal. But letting fear overpower our beauty is not what God desires for us – because God knows you can do it. God knows your willingness to live out your vocation means great things for the world. You can do it! So buckle up and get ready for the ride! Amen.

This week, I have been thinking a lot about callings. Of course, with Charlie’s ordination to the priesthood this weekend, thinking about callings is not unusual. I have always enjoyed ordinations – and not just because I am a priest. I remember the first ordination I went to there were six people being ordained. I only knew one of the six because she was our new assistant at the Cathedral. But I remember being awed by the service. The six ordinands seemed set apart. As they processed down the aisle, wearing their simple albs, I remember wondering how they came to be called as priests, imagining they must have led a special life or be particularly holy. I remember the swarms of clergy who gathered up front to lay hands on the new priests. I remember how the new priests somehow seemed bathed in light that day – as if they had some special connection to the holy.

Having been through the ordination process myself, I look at ordinands a little differently today. Instead of seeing perfectly pious priests processing, I see people who have come through a great ordeal. I imagine the countless nights of struggling with God about why in the world they should become priests. I imagine the stressful meetings with bishops, priests, and committees and the ambiguity about what would happen. I imagine the exams, the sense of failure after messy pastoral visit, and the countless “no”s that come along in the process. I no longer see perfectly coifed new priests, but instead see the haggard, raw, vulnerable people who have said, “yes,” to what promises to be a life of hard, beautiful, ugly, blessed days. In that way, I do not see the ordained as all that different from the rest of us – a vulnerable group of people who are trying to figure out what in the world God wants us to do with our lives.

That is why I love that we hear Joseph’s story today. Most of us think of Joseph as the stable, quiet figure in Jesus’ life. He is present on the holy night of Jesus’ birth. He protects Jesus from Herod by fleeing to Egypt. He teaches Jesus a trade. He accepts the mighty task of raising a child that is both his own and not his own. In our minds, he is a righteous, quiet, solid man of faith.

While all of those things may be true, what they miss is the mess of his life behind the scenes. [i] Joseph is a typical man of faith, righteously living his life, betrothed to a faithful, promising young woman. He is quietly living his life when his world gets turned upside down. His betrothed becomes pregnant, which must mean she has been unfaithful, and in Joseph’s time, that means his soon-to-be wife must either be stoned or divorced immediately.[ii] Trying to overcome this tremendous disgrace and disappointment, Joseph discerns the best, most gracious path forward. And just when he has settled what is next, God comes along, and flips his world upside-down again. Now Joseph is supposed to not only believe that Mary is magically pregnant through the Holy Spirit, but he is also to stay with her and take the baby in as his own. And based on scripture, we know once Jesus hits the teenage years, Joseph’s story disappears altogether. Even though God calls Joseph to do this tremendous, hard, messy, but beautiful thing, Joseph does not get the spotlight for long. He goes about his everyday life, living out his calling, relatively unnoticed by the world.

One of the things I have loved about mentoring people over the years is seeing just that same phenomenon. Throughout our lives we have distinct seasons of discerning call. Sometimes those moments are obvious: graduating from school, trying to find a job, figuring out how to spend time in retirement. The pattern seems to go a little like this: we hit a point where we need to discern what God is calling us to do; we go through a process of discernment, sometimes formal, but usually informal; we make a decision and take the necessary steps to follow that path; and eventually we look back. In looking back, we rarely find that the call we heard and answered leads us to where we expected or wanted. Invariably, there are twists and turns we never could have anticipated. Invariably, there are failures scattered throughout the successes. Answering a call is never a simple, clean, or easy process.

Just this week, I was reading about a young man from North Carolina who happened to see a traveling ballet company at his church at age seven. Four years later, he found himself practicing six days a week. He eventually joined the New York City Ballet. He says, “I’ve always seen ballet as my way of serving God. I think it’s what God has called me to do.”[iii] What I love about this young man’s story is that whether you are a ballet dancer, cabinet maker, housekeeper, or financial manager, at some point, God has called you to that work for a reason. The ballet dancer admits he sacrificed a lot to follow his call. I imagine he failed a lot before he succeeded. And some day, his body will no longer be able to dance, and he will have to figure out what else God is calling him to do. His story is the messy, beautiful, challenging story of call we all live.

And if we have never struggled with discerning our professional calling, we have certainly struggled to understand what God is doing in our personal lives. Though we are approaching a season of joy and merriment, I know there are many of us who are facing medical diagnoses whose purpose we do not understand. There those among us who are living in relationships – romantic, familial, or otherwise – that are at times loving, hurtful, confusing, and life-giving. And there are those of us who feel lost, lonely, or restless, even though everything in our lives seems to be moving along well on the outside. God is in the midst of the personal too – calling us, challenging us, and shaping us.

If we were ever unsure about God’s presence in our messy professional and personal calls, Joseph stands ready to remind us. He too faces a medical diagnosis that changes his world – a pregnancy that he did not plan, or even participate in, that changes the course of his life forever. He too faces a relationship that seems broken. Even when he feels as though he is choosing a kind, compassionate, and righteous decision, God calls him to take another path. Joseph too understood what feeling lost is like. Just because an angel tells him to take in Mary and adopt the child as his own, I doubt that things are easy sailing at home, on that journey to Bethlehem, or even after Jesus’ birth. Though Joseph is listening to God and following God’s call, he is never promised a simple, peaceful, happy life.

So why do we do it? Why do we listen to God’s call for us if we have no guarantees of a happy, smooth, or peaceful life? We follow God’s call because we have experienced that sense of dis-ease when we do not follow God’s call – that sense that we are not using all the gifts God has given us, or that discomfort that comes from trying to force what we “should” do in life with what God calls us to do in life. We follow God’s call because we have experienced the tremendous grace that comes from answering God’s call. Sure, the road is messy, and hard, and sometimes frustrating. But the road is also full of beautiful surprises, wonderful accidents, and joyful confirmations that we are right where God wants us. And we follow God’s call because we are part of a people who have always followed God’s call: from Abraham, to Moses, to Esther, to Jonah, to Mary, to Joseph. Our ancestors have taught us that when we say “yes,” God does indeed turn our lives upside down. But our ancestors have also taught us that in the midst of that topsy-turvy turmoil is where we find out truest selves, where we meet the world’s deepest needs, and where we find ourselves in Christ’s light and love. So, do not be afraid. God is with us. God is with you. Amen.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I have lost count of how many times we have asked that question to our oldest daughter. The answer varies widely depending on what phase she is in or what they have been talking about in school. I confess that there have been times when I was disappointed when she changed her mind – “author and illustrator” was my favorite, though “engineer” was a pretty good one recently. But my all-time favorite conversation about what she wanted to be when she grew up was actually a conversation about priesthood. I asked her my typical question, “So have you decided what you want to be when you grow up?” She replied thoughtfully, “I can’t decide. There are too many options.” Sympathetically I said, “I totally understand. It took me years to decide what I wanted to be.” And without a beat, she replied, with disgust, “And you decided to become a priest?!?”

The thing is, I do not think my daughter’s reaction is all that different than most people. Very few people ever imagine themselves being ordained. The vocation seems too foreign, to require some mysterious amount of holiness, or to just be too weird. All of that makes sense to me – not everyone feels called to the priesthood. But too often acknowledging we do not want to be a priest means that we stop using “call” language altogether. Instead of being able to talk about what we feel called to do in life, we instead talk about what we want to be when we grow up. A calling, a ministry, or even a vocation is something that clergy people do, not what we all do.

At least, that is what the secular world would have us believe. The church says something a bit different. Throughout our liturgies and Prayer Book, we talk about the ministry of all people. Our Catechism defines the ministers of the Church as lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons. The Catechism further states that the ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be; and, according to the gifts given them, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world; and to take their place in the life, worship, and governance of the Church.”[i] In the baptismal covenant, we all promise to proclaim, by word and example, the Good News of God in Christ, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, and to strive for justice and peace. Now some of you may argue that you do those things – just not as your daily work. You are happy to be involved in church, but you do not see your life as a student, a secular worker, or a retiree as a vocation.

And stories like the one we hear in Jeremiah do not help us in this distinction. You see, we hear Jeremiah’s call today like we hear the call of most prophets – and rightly so, since Jeremiah is so similar to other prophets. Like Moses, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, Jeremiah balks at the idea that God may be calling him to do something. Jeremiah protests that he is too young. Similarly, Moses tried to argue he was unskilled, Isaiah that he was unworthy, and Ezekiel that he did not know what to say.[ii] When God calls people to do big things, they often push back and seek an out. In most cases, their fear is legitimate. Being a prophet is often a thankless job – which can certainly lead to suffering, if not death. But invariably, God reassures the person being called. In Jeremiah’s case, God tells Jeremiah that he was born for this job. “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.”

All of that sounds nice. In fact, many of us love this verse from scripture because the verse gives us a sense of comfort, belonging, and affirmation – a sense that we are all known by God.[iii] But what we forget is that in knowing Jeremiah so deeply, God also knows that Jeremiah will have to do a really hard job. The touchy-feely part of the text starts to wane when we hear the part about being a prophet – especially a prophet who will need to fear others. But here’s the real problem with Jeremiah’s call: we do not think God similarly calls us. Not even all priests see themselves as prophets. Prophets, priests, deacons – those are jobs that other people do. Those are not jobs we do. We go to school everyday. We are teachers, financial consultants, government workers, stay-at-home parents, or journalists. We are retired and are done with the “job” part of our lives. We hear stories like the call narratives of Jeremiah, Moses, Ezekiel, and Isaiah, and we can keep ourselves at a safe distance because those are the jobs that those people do.

But remember that catechism and baptismal covenant? The truth is we are all called to something. We all have a vocation. That calling or vocation may be our jobs or what we do every day. We may live out our vocation as a student when we stand up to a bully, play with the new kid who seems lonely, or help tutor the troublemaker clearly needs help. We live out our vocations at work when we advocate for justice for our coworkers, when we offer an ear to a coworker who is struggling, or when we organize a volunteer day for our company. We live out our vocations as retirees when we volunteer at the local homeless shelter, when we treat with dignity the workers we encounter who provide us services, and when we use our time to advocate for the poor.

But vocation is sometimes found outside of those typical confines. Sometimes living into our vocation means calling that person who has been on our minds – only to discover how much they needed a word of encouragement. Sometimes living into our vocation means helping the mom in front of us in the grocery store line who is clearly juggling children, groceries, and dealing with a cashier who has never handled food stamps or WIC benefits. Sometimes living into our vocation means praising and giving thanks to a preschool teacher who just got chewed out by a parent who thinks their child is just fine (when you suspect the child is actually really hard for the teacher to manage).

This fall, we will be starting up an adult education series called Discovery Class. The class is for newcomers and members alike, who want to learn more about our Episcopal Identity, the work of Hickory Neck, and how we can connect to a ministry. In the final session, participants will take a survey to help us discern how our gifts might best tie in with a ministry at Hickory Neck. The survey is a great resource because sometimes teachers are the best matches for Sunday School and Youth Group leadership. But sometimes, best matches for Sunday School and Youth Group are retirees who have been around the block and get how hard the teenage years are. Likewise, someone may have been may have been in construction or administration during their career, but really want to learn how to arrange flowers with the Flower Guild, or play with babies in the nursery. Though many of us have vocations and callings out in the world, sometimes the church is another place where our vocations and callings feed us and others.

So if we are willing to agree that we all have a calling or vocation, recognizing that some vocations can change and evolve over time, how do we know if we are living into our calling? The true test of a vocation might be something like this: whatever in your life is the most intimidating, daunting, or even terrifying task (be it teaching teenagers, asking for money for church, or praying in front of a group), and yet, when you try doing that task gives you an odd sense of deep satisfaction and meaning, is probably your vocation. Prophets would not go kicking and screaming if being a prophet was easy. And yet, prophets would not say yes without the assurance that God is with them, empowering them to be God’s agents.[iv]

This fall, I hope we will all prayerfully consider what ministry God is calling us to do. Paul says in his letter to the Ephesians, “I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, …The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.”[v] Though Church is certainly meant to give us comfort and encouragement each week, Church is also the place that strengthens us and sends us out into the world to do the work Christ has given us to do. One of my favorite church signs looked simple enough from the road – with the name of the church emblazed on front, as you drove into the parking lot. But on the backside, as you were leaving church each week, the sign had a separate message. The sign read, “Go in Peace to Love and Serve the Lord.” That is our dismissal this and every week – to not just consume Church, but to use Church as our foundation to go out into the world to love and serve. And our response is, as always, “Thanks be to God!” Amen.

A short film circulated about a year ago[i] about the role of all religions to protect women. The film starts out with a young woman, walking along a dirt road with books in her arms. We presume she is walking to school to further her education. She walks past two young men who covetously watch her pass by. The viewer can surmise what is going to happen next. The two men get up from the wall and start to follow her. The young woman glances over her shoulder and sees the men following. She speeds up, but they start running, managing to pass her, and block her way. She comes up short and starts to back up, calculating how she is going to get away from these two men to safety.

The anxiety and dread of the young woman in that film has reminded me of Bathsheba these past two weeks. Most of us are familiar with the David and Bathsheba story. When we started hearing David’s story this summer, we knew this part was coming. The story starts out in a totally different place. When we first meet David, he is an unsuspecting, seemingly innocent, wholesome boy. We watch David bravely take on the giant Goliath with just a bag of stones. He is the loving friend of Jonathan and Michal, despite the fact that their father Saul tries repeatedly to kill him out of jealousy. And when David finally becomes king, he joyously dances before God. David has been towing the “blessed” line for most of the summer.

But these last two weeks, the story changes. You see, David has gotten complacent and a bit self-important. When all the other kings are going out to battle, David stays behind, letting others do his fighting. When the rest of the kingdom is busy working or tending to life, David is lounging around the palace. That’s where he first spies Bathsheba. David should not have been there, and he certainly should not have let his eyes linger on a bathing married woman. And then something awful takes over David. He sends his men to take Bathsheba, and he sleeps with her. Though the text never says so, we know the act must be against Bathsheba’s will, given the “enormous power differential between the violator and the violated, the intuitional background in which the crime [is] committed, and the cunning with which it [is] executed.”[ii] Later, when Bathsheba becomes pregnant, David deepens his shame by trying to trick Bathsheba’s husband to sleep with her so that he will think the baby is his. When that doesn’t work, David sends him to battle, having him killed in the line of fire.

I know most of us know this story. Many of us think of this story as David’s little indiscretion. But for some reason, reading this story this year has enraged me. I don’t know if I am angered because I have been hearing too many stories lately about the way we treat women. Or maybe I am angered because I expect more from David – this king who is the ancestor of our Messiah. Or maybe I am just outraged by one more example of the powerful overpowering the powerless – taking whatever they want, ruining lives along the way. This story is about more than an indiscretion. This story is about a violation of the created order – a violation of the body of God.

Today, as Paul is teaching the Ephesians, he holds them to a higher standard. Paul says, “I…beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.” Paul says we are one body. This calling that we are to live worthily is not the vocation we have.[iii] The calling Paul is talking about is the calling we have as Christians to be one body in Christ – of being a loving, caring, humble body in the Lord. Nothing David does today reflects the dignity of every human being or the one body in the Lord. In fact, David does not even seem to see the humanity in Bathsheba or her husband, Uriah.

I think why I am so angry at David is because I am angry with myself. As much as I want to chastise and critique David, I know that my judgment of him comes out of deep sense of my own brokenness. David makes me acutely aware of my own failings to see the dignity of every person, to honor the ways in which we are all a part of the body of Christ. I have become aware of my own complicity with sin as the campaign “Black Lives Matter,” has arisen over the past few years. As more and more cases of the oppression black men and women have arisen in our country, and as more and more stories have been told about the separate reality these men and women experience from white men and women, I have been feeling more and more convicted. If we are all one body, when black lives are denigrated, all of our lives are denigrated. When parts of our body are shamed, abused, or live in the shadow of fear, the rest of our body is not whole. When I participate in that abuse, whether consciously or unconsciously, I am a part of that sinful denigration of our collective body.

The same was true for Bathsheba. When Bathsheba is taken by David, the whole body of God is denigrated. When David sins, everyone loses favor. And the only way to correct for sin is repentance. The initiator of repentance today is not David, but Nathan. Now Nathan is a smart prophet.[iv] He does not storm into the palace, wagging his finger at David. No, he tells a story. Nathan tells a story of a poor man and his beloved sheep. Of course, David is drawn in by the story. As a former shepherd himself, he knows the beloved relationships that can happen with animals for which you care. And so when David hears of a rich man taking that sole, beloved animal, David is outraged, and proclaims that justice must prevail. Without hesitation, Nathan now is able to quietly, but pointedly say to David, “You are the man!” You see, Nathan remembers his calling. He remembers the way that God taught us to live as a community of faith – that when one of our members sins, we are all denigrated by that sin. What David would hide, and cover, Nathan exposes and corrects.

In that short film of the two men pursuing the young woman, a turn happens. As the woman starts to slowly back up, another man is passing by. He sees what is happening and he quickly runs over to stand between the young woman and the two men. The two men threaten him, but he stands firm. A Sikh man in a turban also sees what is happening and joins the protesting man, grabbing his hand and joining him in front of the woman. A Muslim man comes along and joins hands with the men too. Then a Christian man joins the other men. Slowly, eight men join hands together, forming a circle of protection around the woman. The two pursuing men back away and retreat. A smile crosses the young woman’s face, and she lifts her head a little higher.

What this short film captures is the power of the body acting as the body. When Nathan pronounces judgment on David, Nathan is participating in holding up the health of the whole body. The story at this point could have gone a different way. Nathan could have been tossed aside, and David could have kept up his deception. But David’s last words are simple and profound. “I have sinned against the Lord.” Truthfully, David sinned against Bathsheba and Uriah. But what David understands even more profoundly is that when David sins against members of the body, David sins indirectly against the Lord.[v] We hear his fuller confession in the words of the Psalm we read today.[vi] But what David’s words teach us is that healing and wholeness are possible. David does not just say “I am sorry,” but David repents – or as the Hebrew word connotes, David changes his way, and returns to the Lord. David moves back toward health and wholeness.

The redemption in David’s story for me comes not through David, but through Nathan. Like those men in that video, Nathan stands up for those without power. When that action happens, the body is able to move toward wholeness. When Paul tells us to remember our calling today, Paul is talking about all the parts of us. For those times when we are Davids, those times when we are pushed to be Nathans, and for those times when we are the Bathshebas and Uriahs, Paul’s words are simple. “I…beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called…. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.” There is one body. I beg you: lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called. Amen.

Today we honor William W. Mayo, Charles F. Menninger and their sons. The Mayo family name is probably the most familiar to us. They built the first general hospital in Minnesota. In 1883, when a devastating tornado hit, the Episcopalian Mayos joined the Roman Catholic Sisters of St. Francis to respond to the disaster. Their work together developed a new type of patient care that emphasized the whole person – spiritually as well as physically. Building on the vision of doctors working as a team with other medical professionals, not just as solo diagnosticians, the Mayo Clinic eventually emerged as a model for integrating person-centered medical care with the best in cutting-edge scientific and medical research.

The Menninger family were pioneers in establishing a new kind of psychiatric treatment facility in Kansas in 1925. They helped transform the care of the mentally ill in ways that were more medically effective and more humane. They were involved in advocacy and public policy development to support the needs of the mentally ill. One of the sons, Dr. Karl Menninger, wrote a book in 1973 about how recognizing sin, within us and among us, is a key component in personal and relational health. Both the Mayo and Menninger families’ work was transformative because of their commitment to treating the whole person – physically, emotionally and spiritually.

It is most appropriate then that today we read from Ecclesiasticus a passage honoring physicians. The first time I heard this passage was at a funeral for a doctor. I thought the blessing of physicians was a bit odd at first – why out of all the professions should they receive praise? Certainly Jesus had an affinity for healing, and we have all been blessed by some medical professional at some point in our lives – truly we would be lost without our doctors. But I think of all the other, professionals and vocations that are also blessings and wonder why physicians? Once I was at an airport and saw a large group of those serving in the military returning home. All those in the airport stopped what they were doing and clapped. A friend near me wondered aloud, why we do not honor others in the same way – why no standing ovation for teachers, social workers, sanitation workers, and stay-at-home parents? What would our world look like if we could praise each of us for the ways we actively live into God’s call in our lives?

That is really why we celebrate the Mayos and Menningers today. Not because they are physicians, but because of the way in which they are physicians. Their respect for the dignity of every human being is more to be commended than anything. That is what the Mayos, Menningers, and our lesson invite us into today – to live more fully into our baptismal covenant and to our calls. Amen.